


Ocean Eyes

by GwiYeoWeo



Series: mermay 2k19 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Friendship is Magic, Gen, and they're like (water) dogs excited to see him back, like literal magic lmao, no prophecy no war no problem, noctis visits his mer friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: Alone as he is, his presence doesn’t go unnoticed. He catches a flash of orange and red, briefly breaching the grey-blue surfs and white seafoam, and the flick of a tail before diving back under. He feels eyes on him too, predatory almost, and if he was a man of less faith, he’d be scrambling up the rocks lest he fall victim to their guiles and deadly songs.Noctis, though, has nothing to fear but sunburn.Noctis makes a well-needed visit to his watery friends.





	Ocean Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> i'm pretty happy with how this turned out (:3 」∠)

He makes the long drive to Cape Caem by himself.

It had been dark, whether in the middle of the night or in the too early hours of the morning he wasn't sure, with the sky still black and the stars shining white, when Noctis threw off the downy covers and grabbed for his keys. It had been quiet,  _ he _ had been quiet, silent as a thief stealing the King’s crown, when he tiptoed around his room and threw on whatever looked comfortable, one hand roughly tugging down on a cotton shirt as his other fished under his bed for a duffel bag. Always ready and filled with the essentials — extra clothes, toiletries, snacks and water, a firestarter. He had scribbled a note, saying he would be  _ “heading out for a couple days dont call b safe. love, noctis”  _ in chicken scratch, compared to the perfect cursive of his signature, and tossed the bag over his shoulder. 

He had used his keys as his focal point, opening his window and climbing onto the sill, tossing them as far as he could manage and warping to the trees. Then down and below, to the parking garage. 

When Noctis finally makes it to Caem, he carefully pulls the Star off road, navigating through the sparse trees and bushes into the deeper forest. He already knows there will be dried ocean spray and salt on her, dirt in her wheels and stray twigs here and there, but nothing a good wash can’t fix. He parks her under a familiar tree, flanked by some fallen logs and dense brush; despite her shining black coat, she’s a hard beauty to spot in her little safe corner. No one comes to these parts anyway, but he wants to be safe and sure. 

He takes his bag with him before locking her up, two light beeps saying she’s secured and armed, and he squints through the canopy of the overhead trees and their reaching branches, sees the delicate baby blues and white clouds drifting overhead. It’s only warm right now, the ocean breeze helping to cool the heat off his skin, but he knows the sun will no doubt be beating its fire down once the morning waxes fully into day. He's greeted by lively birdsong, mating cries of insects, and a soft scurry of some small critter his presence scares off, and he takes a second to appreciate the serene music of the trees and the distant call of the waves. In the next, he hauls ass and briskly walks through the trees, down the invisible trail only he can recognize. Small markers he’s left and made during his many trips here, to help find his way — the stray torn cotton by the rotten log, the snapped twigs by the berry bush, knife carvings into bark and stone. 

The area is off-limits, decreed by the local government here, on basis that the cliffs just ahead are too steep and too dangerous, that several travelers and tourists had already sustained grievous injuries and worse due to a poor step or improper footing. There's rusty metal signs that read "Keep Out" and warnings to trespassers with threats of heavy fines and even jail, along with the classic chain link fencing that cuts through the nature. 

And though they're not false claims, Noctis knows better. He knows where the hole in the fence is, and he knows secrets. 

He made the request after all, to his father, to cut off this stretch of shore and land from the rest of the public. And to have a tiny cabin hidden away in this “restricted” area, where he could hide away for a few days and nights, when he grew too antsy in both his apartment and the Citadel and needed air. A time for himself, to forget and breathe, to get away from the sleepless nights and the suffocating politics. 

To visit friends. 

He walks past the hidden trail leading to his home-away-from-home, and heads for the the dirt and grass that gives way to sand and rocks. Rather than scaling down the craggy cliffs, where the slip of a foot or a crumbling handhold would spell death among the jagged stones below, he tosses his keys down and warps, softening his landing in the fine white sands. Another trick, in essence, to keep wayward travelers out but allowing a way in for Noctis. 

Alone as he is, his presence doesn’t go unnoticed. He catches a flash of orange and red, briefly breaching the grey-blue surfs and white seafoam, and the flick of a tail before diving back under. He feels eyes on him too, predatory almost, and if he was a man of less faith, he’d be scrambling up the rocks lest he fall victim to their guiles and deadly songs. 

Noctis, though, has nothing to fear but sunburn. He checks the rocks and finds a spot to tuck his bag away, just in case someone really does trespass, somehow making it down the slippery and crumbling cliffs, and decides to play thief. He stuffs his keys into the side pocket, then fishes out his phone from his pants, checking for any missed calls or texts. He finds one, and he only smiles. 

Give them my greetings. Enjoy yourself but next time, do try to leave more than a sticky note. The morning staff nearly had a heart attack. 

Technically, he didn't call, Noctis gives him that. He laughs to himself at his father's message and types out a quick reply before stuffing it alongside his keys. 

I'll try no promises tho

It probably says something, that his father didn't even need to ask where his son flew off to and that there was no berating to be had, but as to who it applied to — him, his father, or both — he isn't sure. Regardless, he isn't going to complain about it, not with the trust and peace of mind he gets from it all. 

He peels his simple shirt off, and his pants and underwear come off next in one swift go. He’s bare naked and vulnerable to the elements, and he had been embarrassed the first few weeks when he stripped down to nothing on the beach, but now it’s just another motion to go through. The first time he tried going straight into the waters with his clothes on, he was trapped in a tangled mess while his friends just watched with watery laughter. Begrudgingly, at that time, he learned his lesson. 

He catches another glimpse of scales, an iridescent blue that glitters brighter than the ocean’s waves, and he knows they’re getting impatient, eager to welcome him in their waters again. Noctis lightly tugs on the thin chain around his neck, a string of four black pearls and three scales — orange, green, blue — woven with a certain magic not even the Caelums could craft. It's a gift, a treasure that would turn the entire black market upside down, turn collectors and aristocrats into rabid animals trying to lay claim on it. 

He keeps it close to his heart not because of the value the world holds it at, but because it's made of love and loyalty and kinship. They each gave their most beautiful scale, a declaration of devotion and something else he's sure they're not telling him — or some cultural tradition that's over his head — and sealed threads of their own magic into the pearls. All so they could spend time with him. 

Sometimes, he's still amazed by such sincerity. Noctis knows far too well the lengths that the councilmen and politicians will go to reach their ambitions, all blue-eyed snakes faking venom as warm honey and covering their death traps with false flowers. He sees it everyday, in the posters asking for votes, in the talks and gossip when no one thinks the Royals are listening, the documents that only hint at the under-the-table deals but aren't enough to convict. His father sees it too, knows more about it than Noctis, handles it far better than the son can, who has to take a break from it all and escape while the King sits in the den of wolves. 

Regis assured him it all came with time, that a King — a decent one, at least — is not made overnight, but Noctis can't help but feel the burden and frustrations the crown lays upon him. And Noctis needs to vent, to breathe and get his mind back in focus, if he wants to better himself and face what his father does everyday. 

He must be thinking too much, or too slow, because this time he sees a pair of green eyes peeking just above the water, narrowed in what Noctis recognizes as scrutiny and impatience. He'd come over and drag him into the ocean if he could, Noctis thinks. 

Noctis shakes his head, and the gaze withdraws back into the water, followed by a flick of his tail. Feeling the heat of the sun burn at his shoulders, he figures it's time to get going anyhow, so he picks up a stone and draws his arm as far back as he can. He lobs it high into the air, over the crashing tides and foaming crests, and counts the milliseconds just before the stone falls. He warps, feels his body blink through time and space, unravelling and stitching itself back together all in one instant, and instead of watching by the shore, he watches from the skies. 

He has a bird’s eye view, for only a moment, as he looks down from above. And they, with their three gazes, stare up from just below the water’s surface. Then Noctis plummets, and he has just enough airtime to turn his body headfirst, his arms outstretched before him and one hand over the other, pointed down in a dive. 

It’s the same as warping, just as instantaneous, and he feels his skin give way to scales. His neck grows hot, for just a fraction of time, and the heat spreads from the necklace like a web. His body itches, like there’s dry skin  _ everywhere _ and he needs a good scrub to get it all off, and he fights the urge to stretch out his legs as they feel like they’ve been trapped in saran wrap for hours. The change isn't pleasant, it never is, but the discomfort lasts for only a moment. 

When he breathes, it’s not through his nose, and he doesn’t choke or gasp for air. There’s a pair of hands on him, catching him through his break of the waters, curbing the momentum and making sure he doesn’t dive past them, and he feels the gentle scratch of claws, perfect for ripping through flesh — fish  _ and _ human. But he knows they’ll never hurt him, will never dare to think of it. 

Noctis blinks, no sting of salt to redden his eyes, and he sees Gladio with a full grin, sporting his stark white canines. 

“About damn time, Noctis!” 

He hears it clearly, as if they were on land, as if the sunny voice isn’t drowned and silenced in the deep ocean, and he turns his head just in time to see Prompto wrap his arms around his shoulders, essentially stealing him out of Gladio’s hands like a ragdoll. 

“We missed you, bud,” Prompto says, giving an extra hard squeeze, “Plus, I was wondering when you could develop these pictures for me.”  

Right. Last time Noctis came, almost an agonizing long month, he bought a water-proof camera for Prompto as something of a gag gift. He never expected the thing to last as long as it did, figured something would crack or bust and turn the camera useless. “So I can see what you guys are up to while I’m gone,” he had said as a joke, after teaching Prompto how to use it. 

“It’s still working?” Noctis asks, trying to wiggle away from Prompto's vice grip. He flicks his tail, an inky black that shimmers like sapphires in the right light, and gently thwacks the blonde on the small of his back. The mer may as well be an octopus, with how easily he attaches himself. 

Prompto relents, but as soon as he unwraps himself, another arm heavily drapes itself around Noctis' shoulders, the weight enough to have him lurch forward, and Noctis spots the unmistakable ink colored into the skin. Gladio rests his chin on top of Noctis' hair, even digging into the top of his skull, much to the latter's chagrin. 

Noctis grumbles and makes a sour face, but it doesn’t deter Gladio from draping his other arm around him as well and leaning even more of his bulking weight on him. Gladio feels like an anchor, threatening to drag Noctis down to the ocean floor, and while the magic gifted to him by the three grants him this form and all the advantages of it, Noctis would rather not get squished by a giant merman.  

"Yeah, little goldfish here wouldn't stop taking pictures until the battery ran out," Gladio says, flicking his eyes over to Prompto. Noctis can  _ see _ the grin in his voice, the very obvious smirk of satisfaction from pestering him. Payback, he knows, for being away for so long. 

"By Leviathan's maw, give the poor man space to breathe." Finally, Ignis swims over and lightly swats at Gladio's forearm, essentially shooing him away like he would a wayward school of minnows. 

Noctis lets Ignis usher him behind his arm, a wall between the prince and Gladio, and he sticks his tongue out in childish vindication. He tastes salt, but only the barest hint, and not like he’s drowning in an ocean full of it. Grinning still, Gladio makes a grabby motion, fingers ominously flexing as he reaches a hand over Ignis’ arm to ruffle that dark flowy hair. Noctis squeaks, ducks farther behind Ignis, then darts away with a powerful beat of his tail. Thus, an impromptu game of tag. 

Noctis knows how this will end, how it will  _ always _ end, because they’re all better swimmers than he is — as attuned to the ocean and their own bodies they are, Noctis is on borrowed magic. But they play, Prompto tackling him to the soft sand floor and rolling both of them along, laughing and smiling, Gladio and Ignis already gunning it out of there lest Noctis tags one of them next. 

Here, they swim and race through the currents, hide among the tangled seaweeds, and dart in and under the arching coral beds. Noctis is glad for it, glad for  _ them _ especially. Their bright eyes and soft smiles, compared to the fright and hopelessness that clung to them like the mud on their fins all those years ago — when they all were but children. When the Crownsguard finally smoked out the illegal traders in the underground world of Insomnia, and found three little mers crowded into a dirty tank with the wrong ratio of salt to water. When Noctis wheeled into one of the Citadel’s safe rooms, where Regis and his council had placed them with no idea how to care for children of an entirely different race, and placed his little palms up to the plexiglass of the biggest fish tank he had ever seen. 

They were so small back then, just like him, but with dull scales and ripped fins. and such sad eyes. Broken in their own little ways, though the damage was by no means small, ripped away from their home and families to be bought and sold like exotic goods. Noctis wasn’t so different, his own fresh scars and wheelchair to show for it. 

And fishes of a scale swim together, apparently. 

And maybe, they could walk together.

Noctis turns over and sits back on his propped up elbows, admiring the catches of sunrays filtering from the surface, light sparkling and piercing in a myriad of lines and angles. Prompto settles on his stomach, digging his fingers through the soft sand and unearthing tiny clams, while Ignis and Gladio take to drifting just above them. 

“So,” Noctis starts, lightly touching his necklace, after catching his breath from their rousing game of tag, “um, good news?”

“Oh?” Ignis swims by closer, peering upon him with his question. “How good are we talking?”

Noctis grins. They’ve lamented over this before. In the beginning when they parted, the boys to their open ocean and Noctis remaining on land, there were tears to be had over the separation; they couldn’t grow legs in place of their tails, and Noctis couldn’t turn his lungs to gills. Though they eventually figured out some old secrets and could give their dear Prince a borrowed form, Noctis couldn’t do the same for them. But they make do, and he visits when he can. And even Regis, King of Lucis and Protector of the Stone who would search the entirety of Eos for his son’s happiness, hadn’t the faintest idea on how to do the same for the three mers. 

But Noctis believes,  _ finally, _ he’s found a way, thanks to the help of Lunafreya. “I dunno, how good do magic legs sound?”

Prompto yelps. He jerks his hand away from the sand and flings it around like a madman, and Noctis barely sees the stone crab sling off through the water. He curls his hand to his chest and nurses his angry red finger, his expression a sadly amusing twist of pain and delight. 

It’s easier to tell of Ignis and Gladio though, as their fins twitch in that characteristic way whenever they fall to excitement, and both their faces light up like the sun shining above. Prompto, though, still gets to him first and topples him over again, being careful to not put pressure on his crab-nipped finger. 

“Seriously?”

“Truly?”

“Dude!”

Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto all share incredulous looks while simultaneously wielding all the hope they can muster in those sparkling eyes of theirs. And once again, Noctis can’t help but feel the surge of absolute gratitude that wells in his chest, hitting him like a rushing tidal wave and swallowing him up in one sweep. He doesn’t have much to offer them, really. They’re no citizens of Insomnia who he could grant special Lucian favors to, or foreign diplomats looking to make alliances or trade agreements. There’s no money to offer when they have no need of it, no fame or glory to be bestowed upon them. They live in a world vastly different from his, living with a different set of rules and freedoms, and he has little power in their own vast ocean.  

Yet, they defend him so fiercely, love him so greatly, and treat him like one of their own despite him being of the very species that had wanted to sell them off as pets. They have the whole underwater world to see and explore, to Altissia and her reefs full of colorful coral and plentiful fish, but they choose to stay in the seas of Lucis, just off the rocky shores of Cape Caem. 

Noctis bites the inside of his cheek, chomping down the quiet anxieties and lurking doubts that rear up. He reminds himself, that their adoration is plenty proof enough, that they truly wish to stay by his side instead of seeking the freedoms beyond Lucis, that their suffocating hugs and excited questions must mean they’re at  _ least _ happy. 

“I’ve been talking to Luna about it,” he finally says, after realizing he hasn’t answered their demands to know the juicy details, “And she’s visiting Insomnia next month, so we’re gonna flesh out the details then.”

"Aww c'mon, man, give us the deets!" Prompto wails, nudging his elbow into Noctis' arm. 

Noctis only smiles and keeps his lips sealed. He can be as stubborn as a starfish prying open a clam, and he certainly gets a particular satisfaction from watching his friends squirm in anticipation. Though the bigger reason, he believes, is because none of them would probably like his answer, and he can only hope they don’t make the connection to Luna before he makes his secret trip to Altissia — secret, in that, it’ll be a secret to  _ them. _ If he told them now, that his plan involved visiting the shrine and seeking an audience with the ocean all-mother Leviathan herself, he’s sure they’d tie him up in a bed of seaweed until he promises not to. 

So he rolls with the punches and lets them try to squeeze out the specifics from him, lets Prompto roll him around and tickle his sensitive spots, suffers Gladio roughhousing (that never bruises, never hurts) and grumbles through the noogies, and cringes at Ignis’ lecture on the reproduction and life cycle of the Galahd Anglerfish. 

“Just make sure you’re not biting off more than you can chew,” Ignis sighs, realizing they won’t be getting anything out of him. 

Noctis wants to laugh, because his morbid sense of humor says  _ he’ll _ be the one getting chewed up if things go south, but he feels for his necklace and runs his fingers over their three scales, feeling oddly confident things will work his way. “Don’t twist your fins into a knot, it’ll be fine,” he says, wading through the waters ahead of them. He twists his torso around to glance back at them then nods his head toward the west. “C’mon, I wanna see this sunken airship you’ve been talking about.”

Prompto whoops, immediately darting off ahead. “Last one there’s a rotten fish egg!” he hollers back. 

Gladio and Ignis roll their eyes; but regardless, they follow suit and chase after the mer. Noctis allows himself just a moment’s pause to watch them swim off, admiring their smooth fins and shining tails that glitter in the cascading sunrays, all new skin and scales that replaced their ruined sheddings from bleak days long gone. He wonders how they’ll look with legs, if they’ll all be as tall as he imagines them to be, if the muscle of their tails will translate into their calves as well. They’ll have to do a bit of learning, just how Noctis had to when he first tried out his tail, going from two legs to one a jarring experience, but he has no doubt they’ll pick up just as quickly, if not quicker. They’ve always been a smart bunch. 

Noctis swims after them, lest he fall too far back. Still, he doesn’t mind being placed dead last and called a rotten fish egg, not when he can see his friends swim with such spirit, with laughter in their eyes and freedom in their smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> part 2? maybe? let me know :D  
> /skedaddles to work on an angsty piece next


End file.
